Creep
by spongecake 2
Summary: Re-posted. A nobody can’t have a somebody. Taint cannot have purity. An angel can’t want a sinner. Perfection can’t be in love with creeps.


**Creep**

**By spongecake2**

**Author's note: ARGH!!! Dear god, I can't remember when I first posted this, or why the admin took it off. I suppose that you **_**can **_**keep a bad ship down, but now it's back, bigger and more irritating than before. Urgh. I've just got out of the hideous rut that was my art exam's prep work, so now I have my life back. However, with all the artwork has gone all my creativity, so I'm just re-posting this. Oh well. I've put in a pairing this time, because... wait, why did I do this? I don't know.**

**I really don't like Christie. Not because she's a bad character or anything like that, but… it's just something about her. Partially due to the fact that she replaced Eddy (HOW DARE THEE, NAMCO!!!) though mostly because she just seems made entirely for the sole purpose of thirteen year old creeps to pander over what with the tight clothes and physically-impossibly-large milk factories she so shamelessly displays. They did it with April O'Neal, they did it with Catwoman, Lara Croft, Sally Acorn (I'm still in denial about... ENOUGH SAID! SHUT UP!), that weird bunny in Space Jam (now that was just… sick…), Rouge the Bat (some of Sonic Team seem to have SERIOUS issues) and now this. I just hate that sort of thing.**

**Despite that, I don't see her a lot, and think she deserves a lot more attention than she gets as a character rather than some pin-up and… wait, how long is this AN going on… longer than the fic itself… whoops. Anyway, fic based off Radiohead's song, stuff and blah blah we've all been here before. Read and review.**

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She slowly toyed with the food on the end of her fork, her friends conversing with the sort of things that girls talk about. Who was going out with who, which dress that , whatever death trap Xiaoyu had set up to simply get Jin's attention. I was never interested in them, but I took note of their petty, dwindling conversations anyway. It told me all about her, but I already knew everything about her.

She was _perfect._ That was all there was. Pure perfection.

I couldn't count her poor qualities on one finger. The same finger that has read through her diary, and the same finger that had, along with the rest of the hand, disgraces myself at night over her, and brings me to yet another low.

But that was me. A low. A blip in an otherwise perfect system. The small, overlooked scratch on the otherwise pristine dining table. The stain on the carpet that's never really noticed. A black dot on a white dot on a white dot in a room full of white dots.

And what is she to me, anyway? My love for her makes me weak in a world which doesn't tolerate weakness. Is that what's wrong with me? Is she making me so useless? Or is it just me. Me and me alone.

That word hurts. _Alone._

I look back to her. She looks so bored. How? How can a perfect life be boring? It can't be anything short of brilliant. A perfect world to live in. Her eyes drift away from her friends, who carry on, oblivious...

"Hey, Christie, who's that?" The blonde girl asks. She points. Christie looks…

_... and her eyes rest on me._

I'm careful to dart out of the way before she can recognise me. Into the darkness, like a lingering shadow that nobody sees. She seems to know, however, that _somebody_ was there. She's wrong. I'm not somebody. I'm nobody. A shadow, a vacuum of empty space, nothingness in a human form. I'm every insult that has ever been thrown at somebody. Worthless. Freak. Pathetic.

_Creep._

She makes her excuses and stands up to leave, her eyes fixed on the place I once stood. She slowly crosses the road and stands in the spot I once was. Mere metres away. The air around her is soothing. It's warm. It's calming. She shivers in cold. Because of _my _atmosphere. My cold, stony, poisonous atmosphere. She looks around for me. I slowly and silently walk away, down a back alley.

_Back into the darkness. Where I belong._

However, I don't notice the small sweet wrapper in time. I stand on it. A crinkling sound. A shocked gasp escapes her beautiful and sacred mouth and she turns her head to the alley. I'm out of sight, but clearly she's coming. I start to run. I don't know why. I'm such a fool. She follows, oblivious to the danger of these alleys. Our footsteps awaken a gang. A gang I know all too well. They like guns. They like cars. They like money.

They like women. And Christie is a woman.

I only just avoid them. They get up, arguing to each other over who was the source of the noise. Then she comes around the corner. They turn slowly. Their mouths turn from argumentative shapes to smiles. Smiles I've seen before. Her eyes look around for a source of salvation, but no help can come. Her eyes widen in fear. My eyes close in dread. Dread of the screams. Dread of the pained howls. Dread of the cries for help I couldn't reply. All because I'm scared. Not of them, but of her.

A nobody can't save a somebody. Taint cannot save purity. An angel can't be saved by a sinner.

Perfection can't be rescued by creeps.

I slowly await the sound of ripping clothes to start when something contact my foot. I look down. A small pebble. I pick it up. Can a freak have hope? Can a nobody be given a chance? Can a creep have an answered wish? I look to my front. A skip. A skip of tarmac pebbles. I look to the scene of impending horror, and aim. Just as the leader closes, I throw it. The leader grabs his head in pain. Another pebble comes into contact with him. His friends get a punishment too. I then grab fistfuls and throw them in fury, desperate to leave the purity as it is.

_My opposite._

Consumed by fright and surprise, they flee, leaving Christie for the shadows to conceal her. She pants, not fully understanding the scene. She looks to the pebble. She picks it up. As she does, I carefully walk away. She clenches the pebble and walks away too.

Walking away from a creep's world, back to where she belongs.

The next day, she goes back to the café. Her friends ask her what happened when she left. She speaks of nothing that can be connected to reality. She seems distracted and detached. With good reason. I stand where I did before. I take more care, however, so the horrible events of yesterday won't repeat. I stay in the shadows. I think for a while. I almost ruined her indirectly. The hands that tried to grope her were mine, in a way. I won't let that happen again. I turn to walk away for the last time, when my foot comes into contact with something. I look down. A small, folded piece of paper. Unnoticed. Overlooked. Just like me. I pick it up and unfold it. In immaculate handwriting, ten simple words.

_You know who you are. I want to know too._

I look to the café. She hasn't noticed. I look back to the note. I can't bring her to my level. I can't make her what I am. Not in anyway can I let that happen. I walk over to the bin, when I notice four, last words, alone, smaller, at the corner.

_I'm a creep too._

I look to her. She still doesn't notice. I look to the paper, and back. She's not... she's not a creep. She can't be. She's perfect, she's sublime, she's everything I'm not. The four words repeat themselves over and over. She's trying to pull me. She's begging me to come...

... I've always wanted her to requite me, so why won't I let her now?

I turn back. The thoughts ring like an endless spiral. In no way is she a creep. She can't call herself that. Only weirdoes say that. Freaks. Nobodies.

_Creeps._

I make a decision, and walk toward the café.

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**(Pulls out bile umbrella) I'm optimistic about how this will be received. Don't worry. I'm working on original stuff, so no more of this 'Re-posting' bull crap. Incidentally, I'm considering re-writing my first story 'Exodus' so do give ideas if you think on how I could impro-OH DEAR!!! Oh, bum-waddles. (Notices noose around neck) Ok, that may be a **_**bit **_**of an extreme punishment for simply having writer's blo-huuuurk… (Hangs lifelessly) **


End file.
